Leave the Light On
by dashinginconverse
Summary: As a Reaper, Paige is supposed to guide souls to the afterlife, never interfering with their intended path. However, this becomes remarkably difficult when she encounters her next charge, Seth Rollins - a man who very much wants to die, and a man who she very much wants to save. RollinsPaige, plus others, AU


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything._

_**Summary: As a Reaper, Paige is supposed to guide souls to the afterlife, never interfering with their intended path. However, this becomes remarkably difficult when she encounters her next charge, Seth Rollins - a man who very much wants to die, and a man who she very much wants to save. RollinsPaige, plus others, AU**_

_So, this idea suddenly attacked me out of no where, and I couldn't stop myself from writing it. I've started to adore the SethPaige pairing and this is my first chapter fic with the two of them as a main focus. I'm really excited about this fic. Paige's role is kind of based on this anime that I am very fond of - Yu Yu Hakusho, if anyone's interested - but everything else is completely different. Anyway, I do hope that y'all enjoy this new fic of mine. I know I probably shouldn't be starting a new one, but I couldn't help myself. It's October and I felt that this was an appropriate little fic to start now, considering the supernatural elements in it. Please enjoy! _

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><p><strong>Leave the Light On<strong>  
><strong>Chapter One: The Job of Death<strong>

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><p>The night was inky black, so dark and foggy that not even the brightest of street lamps could pierce it. The garb she wore was even darker - rich black, billowing robes that flowed with even the slightest breeze. When the first people drew their images of Death, they pictured the figure as a skeleton, cloaked in darkness, with a wickedly curved scythe. <em>They had only gotten one of those details correct,<em> Paige mused; however, she was as pale as a bleached skull, so maybe the stereotypical image was slightly more accurate in her case.

The woman floated in the darkness, stories high in the sky, eye-level with an apartment. She needn't worry about being seen. Only others of her kind could see her, and even then, they rarely spoke. She could call only a few of her brethren a friend, and that was being generous. But that was neither here nor there, and she was here to do a job.

Paige ran a hand through her inky-colored hair. It hung down her back, long and tangled, her equally dark eyes stared in front of her, looking intently at the window.

A few drops of rain pattered against the glass, but fell right through her. That was one perk of being dead, she supposed. The rain began softly, but then picked up in intensity, as if knowing that something was broiling inside the apartment she gazed so intently at.

She had been told that the latest person she had to bring to the Other Side was in that apartment, that he would die at exactly 12:16 this morning - no earlier, no later, it was set in stone - by his own hand, by a bullet through his skull. They had even told her the make and model of the gun, but she did not remember. Death was death, and death was especially sad when it was wrought by one's own had. She could attest to that.

So here she stood, at exactly 12:00 midnight, waiting for what would inevitably come - a sound, muffled by the storm outside, but a sound nonetheless. The sound of a gunshot, with all the finality of the weapon itself.

Paige scratched the back of her head, her fingers raking roughly through her mass of dark hair. The curtains were pulled back from the window, showing a man pacing back and forth, half his hair light, the other half dark. He was thin, well-built, and with a pair of brown eyes that were as troubled as she had ever seen a man's. He ran his own slender fingers through his hair, tangling them, before ripping them away and throwing his head back. Due to her heightened senses, Paige could hear a slight growl rumbling from his chest, even through the layers of brick that separated them.

"The wait is the worst," a voice said from behind her.

Paige did not start at the sound. Instead, she turned slowly, focusing her stare on the other Reaper that had decided to make himself known.

"Roman," she addressed, curtly.

A smile broke across his face. A genuine one. Seeing a smile on a Reaper would never not be jarring, but Roman smiled nonetheless. He was happier when he was alive, she had heard, but that happiness had been taken from him, as it had from all of the ones who were Reapers.

"No need to be so formal," he said, raising a hand in defense, as if she would hurt him. In reality, Roman was one of the few she could call _friend_, and he knew this.

Paige lifted a thin shoulder in a shrug. "Sorry. I have been waiting here for the longest time and I seemed to have forgotten my courtesies."

Roman scoffed. "You always seem to _forget your courtesies_," he replied, doing his best to imitate her accent.

This earned a scoff from Paige, who said, "What are you doing here?"

"There was a house fire downtown," he said, and suddenly his voice was somber. "Two dead. Little girls."

Paige looked at him, biting her lip. She knew how much Roman adored children, knew the circumstances behind his death, and knew that the deaths of kids were the hardest for him to cope with. They were the hardest for anyone to cope with, really, but for Roman they always had a personal feel to them, for good reason. She hated that they always assigned him to bring children to the Other Side.

"I'm sorry," Paige said, and now she was sincere. "Come find me later, and we can - "

"Drink?" Roman said, a sadness-tinged smile curving his lips. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Good," she said, as playfully as she could muster. "I plan on drinking you under the table."

"I'll believe it when I see it, baby girl," he said, and as soon as the term of endearment was out of his mouth, he gave a wink and then vanished, leaving Paige to her duties. His presence was immediately missed, however, as soon as she gazed back into the emptiness of the apartment in front of her.

The clock on the wall of the apartment read 12:15.

Things seemed to escalate in that moment. The man with the two-toned hair continued to pace, wiping frustrated tears away with his forearm. He was gone for a moment, and Paige wondered if she wouldn't have to witness this one. All of the death, no matter how much one may have been exposed to it, would wear on one's soul. And that counted doubly for Reapers.

But then the man was back, gun in hand, standing in the center of the room and facing the window. His eyes were closed and he gradually lifted the gun to his temple, finger on the trigger, breaths heaving shakily from his body. The man opened his eyes for what would be the last time - Paige wondered what he was looking for. The moon? The stars? Heaven?

His eyes seemed to meet hers - they were the softest brown she had ever seen, streaked with red, brimming with unshed tears, wide with fear. Paige tensed, a chill rolling down her spine. _Here it goes._

She was expecting a gunshot and the resulting splatter of blood and gore on the walls. However, what she was treated to was the sight of him lowering the gun from his head, the heavy steel weapon dropping from his fingers and landing on the thick carpet with a _thud_.

The man took a few steadying breaths and stepped away from the window, leaving the gun on the carpet and Paige with her mind spinning as if she had taken the shot for him.

It was 12:17 A.M., and Seth Rollins still lived.

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><p><em><strong>End Chapter One.<strong>_


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